


so wild flowers will come up where you are

by mygalfriday (BrinneyFriday)



Category: Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-14
Updated: 2014-09-14
Packaged: 2018-02-17 09:32:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,128
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2304935
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BrinneyFriday/pseuds/mygalfriday
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There are exactly four things the Doctor can count on in an always-changing universe. One is the TARDIS. The second is the inherent goodness of humans. The third is Daleks. And the last is that River Song will always greet him with a sexy little smirk and a hello sweetie that makes his hearts flip-flop.</p>
            </blockquote>





	so wild flowers will come up where you are

**Author's Note:**

> Charina requested this a while back and I’ve had it sitting around for ages so I thought I might as well post it while I work on some more Twelve/River stuff:) Story title from Rumi.

The thing the Doctor loves most about the universe is that it is never the same from one moment to the next. There is always something new to see – a planet to explore, a star to watch come into being, another food waiting to be drowned in custard. But as much as he likes the impossibility of ever being bored, it’s nice to have a few constants.  

 

There are exactly four things the Doctor can count on in an always-changing universe. One is the TARDIS. The second is the inherent goodness of humans. The third is Daleks. And the last is that River Song will always greet him with a sexy little smirk and a _hello_ _sweetie_ that makes his hearts flip-flop. This constant – not that he’ll ever tell anyone – is his favorite. No matter what, the moment he arrives, his wife is there to give him her full attention and perhaps a nice hello snog. When he is with her, he feels like he is the center of her universe and there is something rather nice about being so equally important to the woman who has been the center of _his_ admittedly vast universe since the moment she strolled in with a knowing smile.

 

Which is why it’s so disconcerting when he swaggers expectantly out of the TARDIS, slicking his hair like a proud peacock, only to find River sitting in the middle of a trench and frowning up at him, squinting against the desert sun. “What are you doing here?” She asks, looking distracted and not nearly pleased enough to see him.

 

He frowns right back at her, frozen in place and utterly lost. She’s supposed to beam at him. Her whole face is supposed to light up at the mere sight of him. She should be rising to her feet and climbing out of that hole in the ground, dusting the dirt off her hands, and striding forward to kiss him until his toes curl. Instead, she peers at him from beneath the brim of her pith hat and doesn’t move.

 

Taking in his surroundings at glance – young people in khaki carrying tool belts much like River’s ( _archaeologists_ , he thinks savagely), miles and miles of desert sand stretching in every direction, tents set up along the horizon – and surmises he has landed in the middle of one of his wife’s dusty boring digs. This is only confirmed when a young man hurries past carrying a musty old bit of rock and looking pathetically excited. River glares after him until he’s out of sight but aboveground and with a better view, the Doctor keeps watching him, curious. The young man runs up to an older gentleman who marches up and down the rows of students sitting in the dirt, observing like some sort of general – the professor in charge, he deduces.

 

Feeling ignored, the Doctor huffs and waves his arms about. “Oi, no hello snog?”

 

River chips away at the wall in front of her, mouth set in an adorably determined pout as she mutters a distracted, “Hello sweetie.”

 

“Once more with feeling,” he sniffs, pouting a bit.

 

She gazes at him over her shoulder with an apologetic smile and there’s a softness in her eyes that makes him feel a little less insulted until she says, “I’m a little busy right now.”

 

“Busy?” He gapes at her incredulously. “But River, it’s me!”

 

“Yes, I can see that,” she mutters, preoccupied with her silly digging tools.

 

He very nearly stamps his foot. “I’m your -” He stops, eyeing her for a moment, and decides she is most definitely still in university and not married yet. “Your Doctor,” he amends weakly.

 

She rolls her eyes like she knows exactly what he’d been about to say anyway.

 

He huffs. “Are you even happy to see me?”

 

“Of course I am, honey,” she says, still not looking at him. “But we’ve just uncovered this temple and I have a lot to -” She trails off mid-sentence as the wall she’s working on suddenly gives way, crumbling away and raining dirt and bits of tile on the top of her pith hat. River waves a hand in front of her face and coughs, staring at the small opening suddenly revealed to her. It looks like some sort of crawlspace, the inside black as pitch and filled with Rassilon knows what manner of creepy crawlies. The Doctor sighs, wondering when dark spaces and creepy crawlies became more important to her than _him_.

 

“River,” he ventures again. “Can’t you just -”

 

She gasps softly, leaning in close to peer into the crawlspace, her eyes wide. “Oh my god,” she murmurs. “I found it. I actually found it.”

 

Before he can even ask her what exactly she has found – surely she can’t be excited about a tiny, dark hole in the wall of the bigger dark hole she’s currently sitting in – River has abandoned her discovery and begun to scramble up and out of the trench, grinning breathlessly. The Doctor stumbles forward in a hasty attempt to help her before she falls, pulling her out by the hand.

 

She squeezes his fingers briefly in thanks but rather than finally receiving his proper hello, he watches as she breezes right past him at a sprint. River runs right for the professor apparently overseeing the whole operation, curls flying and one hand clutching her hat to her head. She halts to a stop right in front of him, mouth moving a mile a minute and hands gesturing widely, her eyes bright and eager.

 

The professor listens intently to her, nodding.

 

River gestures over her shoulder, in the Doctor’s direction, and for a moment he thinks maybe she’s telling him she’s about to head off with her future spouse for an adventure and she’ll be back in five minutes but then the two of them start walking together and he realizes perhaps she’d been talking about that dusty hole in the wall.

 

She leads the professor all the way back to where she’d been excavating, coming to a stop at the edge of the trench. “There,” she says, pointing. “I believe it’s what we’ve been looking for. It has all the signs of a communion room – from what I can see, at least.”

 

“Well, let’s have a look before we get too excited.” The professor sounds skeptical, dropping into the pit with a torch in his mouth.

 

The Doctor edges closer to River and though she doesn’t look at him, she leans a bit into his side, watching her professor anxiously and biting her lip. She says nothing but he can feel her nearly vibrating with excitement and can’t help but wonder what is so bloody special about this underground cavern that he’s being neglected like an old toy.

 

“River -”

 

“Shh,” she says, elbowing him.

 

In the trench, her professor peers into the secret room River has uncovered, shining his torch into the darkness. After a moment, he releases a gleeful laugh and looks up at River with a nod. “Ms. Song, you’ve found it.” He beams. “Well done.”

 

River lights up like a new star at the praise. In fact, she very nearly glows, her cheeks flushed and a shy smile on her lips. “Thank you, Professor James.”

 

The Doctor stares, a little outraged as she helps the man climb out of the trench. What has gotten into her, looking at some crusty old professor like that? _He_ is supposed to be on the receiving end of that look. That look is one of the special privileges of being called _husband_.

 

Dusting himself off, Professor James forms an O around his mouth with his hands, calling out in a booming voice that belies his age. “Attention, scholars!” Every student immediately stops what they’re doing and turns to look at him, eyes shining with respect. James clears his throat, reaching out a hand and grasping River by the elbow, pulling her closer to him. “Ms. Song has found our communion room.”

 

There is a brief smattering of applause, some of it genuine and some of it paired with jealous scowls. The Doctor joins in, clapping the loudest and the longest because even though he frankly does not care in the slightest about dusty tombs when he can go back and meet people while they were alive any time he wants to, River has always been damn good at her job and he’s rather enormously proud. River flushes under the attention but he can see that secretly, she’s feeling just a bit smug.

 

Still beaming, James waves away the cheering students. “As such, I think it’s only fitting that she be the first to investigate.”

 

He claps her on the back as River turns her head to gaze up at him with shock, gratitude, and warm affection. Last week, the Doctor had taken her to watch the beginning of the universe and she hadn’t looked at him like that. He bristles, frowning.

 

“What do you say, Ms. Song? Will you do us the honor of being the first to enter that room in ten thousand years?”

 

River looks breathless. “Me? Really? I – yes, of course.” She swallows back a smile, ducking her head. “Thank you, Professor.”

 

He pats her shoulder, offering a proud grin. “You deserve it. Well done.”

 

As he marches off, the Doctor offers a cheery wave, glad to finally be rid of him, and sidles up to River once more. “Alone at last,” he mutters, bouncing on his heels and grinning down at her. River still looks a bit distracted but she smiles softly, reaching up to wipe away a smudge of dirt on his cheek. He preens a bit under the attention – _finally_ – and says, “Hello.”

 

“We’ve done that already,” she says, smirking.

 

“Ah. You were so busy ignoring me I wasn’t sure you noticed.”

 

She rolls her eyes.

 

“But don’t worry, I forgive you.” He taps her on the nose and quickly snags her wrist, pulling her in the direction where he’d parked the TARDIS.

 

“Forgive me? Doctor -”

 

“Come along then,” he says hastily. “Lots to do, all of time and space to do it in.” He flushes without even turning to look at her. “Oh, stop it. You know what I mean.”

 

River promptly pulls her hand from his grasp and he turns on his heel in confusion just in time to see her walking away from him in the direction of the tents set up in the distance. “Maybe later,” she calls over her shoulder. “I’m in the middle of something.”

 

“In the middle of -” He huffs stalking off after her. She disappears into her tent and he yanks the flap back to scowl at her. “River, this is boring. Come on, I’ll take you to Drahva – female warriors! They owe me a favor. We’ll get them to forge your own sword and -”

 

“Sounds lovely,” she says, pulling out a torch. “But not now, sweetie. I have to investigate this room.”

 

“Can’t you do that later?” He whinges, watching her stuff a vast array of items into her tiny knapsack. “I can have you back in two minutes. Time machine, remember?”

 

“I certainly remember the rubbish pilot who promised to get me back a week before exams so I could study and instead we arrived ten minutes after they’d already begun.”

 

He flushes, tugging at his bowtie. “Well, still passed them didn’t you? Clever girl.”

 

She eyes him balefully over her shoulder.

 

He sighs. “Just a small trip? A teensy one?”

 

“I’m doing this now,” she says firmly, turning back to her knapsack. “You can wait.”

 

“Wait?” He blusters, gaping at the back of her head. “River, you haven’t even kissed me yet!”

 

In one swift, graceful movement, River turns from her knapsack, yanks him down to her by the tail of his long coat, and plants a warm, enthusiastic kiss to the corner of his mouth. She releases him before he can return the favor or touch her hair or really even savor the moment. “Happy?” She asks, stuffing a canteen into her knapsack.

 

He licks his lips, pouting.

 

River sighs. “I have to work right now, sweetie. This is my very first dig and I have to make a good impression on my professor if I ever want to get anywhere in this line of work.” She shoulders her knapsack, turning to face him, and softens a bit at his dejected expression. “Please stop distracting me and either wait for me in here or leave and come back when I’m through.”

 

He stares at her in wounded silence. His River never passes up an opportunity to see him or go on an adventure or just have tea. Maybe that’s because when she’s older, River knows how few and far between his visits can be. She never knows which version of him she’ll get, so when she gets her husband, she makes time for him because she doesn’t know when she’ll see him again. When she’s older, she’s fully aware just how precious their time together is. She knows all things must come to an end – especially good things. Especially them.

 

He supposes he should be grateful that for River at this particular moment in time, she hasn’t come to this realization yet. She still has so much time left – she can afford to be careless with it. But the Doctor doesn’t have that luxury. Not anymore. He won’t waste a single second.

 

“You want me to leave?” He can’t believe the words are even coming out of his mouth.

 

River smiles at the squeak she detects in his voice. “Or wait here like a good boy.”

 

He swallows back a protest. Not a single second.

 

So yes, fine. He’ll just sit here – he flops dramatically onto her bedroll, arms crossed – and wait while River goes off to excavate caves and gaze moonily at her professor. Fine.

 

River laughs softly, eyes bright, and he realizes with a curse that he’d accidentally muttered that aloud instead of inside his own head. “You’re jealous?” She pats his cheek, looking pleased. “Bless.”

 

“What? No!” He shakes his head vehemently, sputtering. “Of course not. I am over a thousand years old, Melody Pond! I do not get jealous. It’s petty and human and -” With a disbelieving hum and a little wave, River disappears through the tent flap and he deflates, huffing. “Maybe a bit.”

 

Outside the tent and apparently still within hearing distance, River laughs.

 

The Doctor glowers after her.

 

Sitting still with his hands folded in his lap, waiting patiently for her return lasts all of about thirty seconds. Rising from the bedroll – it smells like sand and dust and River’s hair – he begins to roam the small tent, looking for something to occupy his time. Her things are scattered about after her hurried attempt to find everything she might need and cram it into her knapsack so the Doctor begins to snoop through her belongings under the guise of neatly putting everything away.

 

Practical clothes: old t-shirts, khakis, _very_ tiny shorts, boots, sunglasses and hair ties. Not one pair of knickers, damn her. He hastily puts away her clothes, blushing.

 

He finds her gun belt next. Then her gun. She isn’t old enough to have it set to stun just yet. He resists the urge to do it for her. River has to make that decision on her own. Mouth pursed in a warring effort to contain both amusement and disapproval, he tucks the gun and gun belt out of sight.

 

Lifting a colorful headscarf from the floor, he imagines River trying to hide all that hair beneath it and smiles to himself, trailing his fingers over the silky material. It carries her scent. Sometimes, it changes throughout her life. When she’s young, she smells like plasma blasts and the dusty books in the University library. After their 52nd anniversary, she smells like inkwells and an obscure Parisian perfume he bought for her at a market stall. But underneath it all, no matter what changes, there is a smell that belongs to River alone and clings to her throughout her life, like the soft, sweet scent of damp earth and the electric charge of the vortex that makes his nose tingle. On lonely nights, the Doctor buries his face in her pillow and craves it. Without thinking, he tucks the scarf away into his coat pocket reverently, hoping she won’t miss it.

 

He scans the floor for anything else that might be interesting and finds that the headscarf had been hiding her diary beneath it. Well, it isn’t her diary yet. It will be one day. Right now, he isn’t quite sure _what_ River uses it for. Notes for her classes? Sketches? Grocery lists? A comprehensive guide on 1000 different ways to kill a Time Lord?

 

Slowly, the Doctor bends to pick it up. Even after all this time, even knowing there are no spoilers in here just yet, it still feels strange and forbidden to touch it. He strokes his fingers softly over the cover, so shiny and new. One day, this book will be full to bursting with adventures and date nights, occasionally a pencil sketch of him sprawled across their bed looking happily debauched. There will be photographs tucked into the pages, ticket stubs, pressed flowers and one very special bowtie as a bookmark. It will be faded and worn, dog-eared and waterlogged – _loved_. But right now, it is brand new and blank with possibility. It makes him smile even as his stomach twists with jealousy. Oh, to be at the beginning again.

 

Pressing a soft kiss to the binding, the Doctor slips the book under the pillow on River’s bedroll. He lowers himself onto the bedroll too, reluctant to go outside and wander around. Archaeologists are so _boring_. River is the only exception. And Indiana Jones. Sometimes he wonders if River is the reason Indiana Jones even exists. Maybe she _is_ Indiana Jones.

 

The Doctor reclines across the bedroll, long legs splayed awkwardly in the small space, and settles in to contemplate the similarities between the two archaeologists. They’re both professors with secret lives outside of work but River would never wear that hat. She’d shoot it first. And she would never be afraid of something as trivial as snakes. They both carry a whip, though River rarely uses hers outside of their bedroom –

 

Too busy feeling flushed and just a little smug, the Doctor almost misses the faint tugging in his head. There is only one person remaining alive that he has a mental link with. _River_. He sits up quickly, bringing a hand to his temple, and tries to concentrate. Does she need him? Does she even know she’s broadcasting her thoughts so loudly?

 

Their communication isn’t always intentional but River’s mind is so closely connected with his that sometimes he hears her even when she’d rather he didn’t – when she’s scared or angry or sleeping or just not thinking clearly enough to put up the proper shields, he’ll get flashes of her thoughts. He doesn’t even have to be near for it to happen. He can always hear her. And right now, he hears the faint murmur of her distressed thoughts. Flashes of pure panic.

 

Hearts stuttering, the Doctor scrambles up and out of the tent, at a full run before the flap even closes behind him. River is nowhere to be seen as he races from the tents to the dig site, eyes frantically scanning for her as he kicks up sand in his wake. No one seems panicked, all the students dusting off artifacts and cataloguing them in the grueling sun. Spotting Professor James standing in the distance, the Doctor stumbles toward him and almost loses a shoe to the sand. He hops the rest of the way, struggling to keep his boot on, and James watches his progress with amusement.

 

The Doctor frowns savagely at him and hops to a stop right in front of him, yanking his boot back up his heel. “Where is -” He glances beside them and stares into the trench River had been exploring earlier when he arrived. “She’s in there.”

 

“Ms. Song?” James nods, eyeing him speculatively. “She’s investigating an underground temple of a sort. We call it the communion room – it’s where the natives went to commune with their gods. Completely dark, small space. Utter sensory deprivation. We’ve speculated that it caused them to hallucinate and have visions.”

 

The Doctor stares at him, imagining all the horrors River could be hallucinating– her childhood offered a variety of ammunition. “Alone? She’s in there _alone_?”

 

Professor James blinks at his furious growl. “Of course. She’s to take photographs, translate the writings on the wall -”

 

The Doctor releases a growl low in his throat, turns on his heel without listening to another word, and drops into the trench. It isn’t a long drop – about six feet or so – but he stumbles anyway, hitting his knees and coating his trousers in sand. He doesn’t bother dusting himself off, pulling out his sonic as he staggers toward the crawlspace River had uncovered. “River?” He calls, and hears his voice echo back to him as he flashes his sonic around, hoping to see something – anything. “Are you alright? _River_!”

 

“She can’t hear you,” James sighs. “The walls are too thick. Sensory deprivation includes sound -” He swallows back the rest of his words when the Doctor whirls to fix him with a glare. “Who are you? Not one of my students – I’d remember.”

 

The Doctor sticks his head into the dark, dusty space. “River, if you can hear me, I need you to hold on. I’m coming to get you, honey.”

 

“You mustn’t go in there.” James splutters, frowning. “You aren’t authorized! And you haven’t signed the release form!”

 

The Doctor ignores him, lifting himself up and climbing into the crawlspace, finding himself staring down the length of a long, narrow tunnel only big enough to crawl through on his belly. The green glow of his sonic illuminates the dark space and though he can’t see the end from here, River’s thoughts are a little louder and a little more distinguishable. He pushes her panic aside and starts crawling.

 

It takes a full ten minutes to crawl through the tunnel on his belly, spider webs in his hair and dust in his mouth. The closer he gets to River, the more he begins to understand just what she’s going through. Her thoughts are clearer, less fuzzy panic and more discernible fear. It’s so dark and so quiet. She turned off her torch because they were things in the dark she didn’t want to see. Pale, misshapen faces. Hissing voices she can’t drown out. 

 

“River?” He calls again as he nears her. Their mental link is stronger than ever now. “Honey, can you hear me? Talk to me, River.”

 

_Not really here. Not really here._

 

The narrow crawlspace finally comes to an end and the Doctor tumbles out of it with a yelp, landing in a little room that glows green in the light of his sonic. Wincing, he settles on his knees and flashes his sonic around, squinting. River sits huddled in a corner, curled in on herself with her hands clapped over her ears and her eyes squeezed shut.

 

The Doctor feels his hearts seize in his chest. “Oh, honey.”

 

River stiffens at his voice but she doesn’t open her eyes. Instead, she shakes her head slowly and mutters out loud, “Not real.”

 

Biting his lip, the Doctor crawls cautiously across the room to reach her. “I am definitely, definitely real, River Song. Look at me. See?”

 

The moment he tries to touch her face, she lashes out. She isn’t carrying a weapon but little Melody learned a long time ago how to use her body as a weapon. She swings her fist but he’d been expecting that. A swift punch to the jaw to stun him, then catch him off guard with a quick tackle him to the ground and pin him in place with a knee to his chest and her hand squeezing his throat – she’s done it before. He catches her fist in one calm, deft movement and her eyes fly open.

 

“Doctor?”

 

Allowing his thumb to lightly caress her wrist, he looks back at her with soft eyes, no blame and no judgment in his gaze.

 

River crumbles.

 

This is not how he’d imagined finally getting to hold her today but he wraps her in his arms and buries his face in her hair, shushing her softly. “It’s alright,” he breathes. “There’s no one here but you and me, honey. I’ve got you.”

 

She shudders, fingers curling tightly into his filthy coat.

 

Hesitantly, the Doctor lifts a hand to her head and presses his fingers against her temple. Closing his eyes, he focuses on projecting his own calm onto her, but when he nudges gently at their mental link, River flinches violently away, scrambling from his arms. As if by reflex, she tosses her pith hat at his head and he ducks just in time to avoid being hit. “Don’t,” she says forcibly, glaring. “I’m fine.”

 

Her hands shake and he realizes too late that while their mental link is old news to him, River isn’t there yet. “Right, okay.” He scratches his cheek. “Sorry.”

 

Looking remorseful now, River quickly glances away. She swallows tightly and flexes her jaw, arms wrapped around her middle.

 

The Doctor sighs, picking up her hat before settling against the wall next to her, fiddling with the brim. “We can sit here,” he says. “Until you’re ready.”

 

What he means is _I’m not leaving you no matter what you try to hit me with_.

 

“Thank you,” she whispers, still sitting stiffly next to him. “I’d rather no one saw me like this.”

 

What she means is _you’re the only one who can_.

 

Someday, even that will change. She’ll hide the damage from him like she’s saving him from pain, like it doesn’t hurt so much worse to know she doesn’t trust him with her weaknesses anymore. “You know,” he ventures, and wonders if his voice sounds as raw and trembling to her ears as it does to his. “You don’t have to be so strong all the time. Weakness is natural. It’s _human_.”

 

“Exactly,” she scowls into the darkness, still refusing to look at him.

 

“Sorry, what?”

 

With his gaze fastened on her profile, he can see her peeking at him out of the corner of her eye. She looks away again, staring at her hands. “I was trained since birth to never have any weakness. Weakness meant going to bed without supper. Weakness meant being locked in the dark for days on end. I was taught it was a vulnerability a girl couldn’t afford – not around you.”

 

“River -”

 

She shakes her head, wiping roughly at her cheek and smearing dirt over her skin. “And now I have so many weaknesses. Amy, Rory, _you_.” He starts a bit at that, surprised. She’s still so young and he hadn’t known – well. It’s nice to hear. “Even my past is a weakness. I can’t excavate a bloody dark room without having flashbacks -”

 

“River, this isn’t just any dark room -”

 

“It doesn’t matter,” she says, shaking her head. “The point is I’m weak now.”

 

He stares at her, silently outraged to hear something so ridiculous coming from her mouth. “Weak? _Weak?_ How dare you.”

 

She finally turns to look at him, blinking in surprise. “What?”

 

“River Song is the strongest person I know and I don’t ever want to hear anyone say otherwise – not even you.” He lifts a hand to her dirt-smeared cheek. “She is brave and kind and generous and clever and everything I wish I could be. _You_ are all of those things, River. And I am proud of you every single moment of your life.”

 

For a moment, the only thing he can think of is their wedding – the first one – and the way she’d looked at him as he spit _you embarrass me_. He swallows thickly, lifting his eyes to hers again.

 

“Even when it seems like I’m not, I am always, always proud of the woman you’ve become, Melody. And you should be too.” He beams. “I can promise you, with or without your professor’s approval, you’re going to be just fine.”

 

Eyes brimming over, River turns her face into his hand and nuzzles a soft kiss into his palm. “Isn’t that spoilers?”

 

He shakes his head. “I don’t believe there’s a universe in existence out there where River Song isn’t amazing.” She smiles and he thinks that if his sonic weren’t casting everything in its odd shade of green, he’d be able to see her flush. He slips his palm over her cheek and feels her skin heated under his touch, grinning in victory. “You’re blushing,” he whispers, delighted.

 

She rolls her eyes, pushing his hand away and biting her lip. She sneaks another peek at him, shoving her curls behind her ears and looking so uncharacteristically hesitant and shy that he can’t help but stare, hanging on her every word. “Were you really jealous?”

 

His first instinct is to vehemently deny it but she looks at him hopefully and he wonders at the last time anyone cared enough to be possessive of River – not possessive of her body and her abilities and her DNA but possessive of her hearts and her love, of that soft look in her eyes. Threading a hand through her curls, the Doctor nods and confesses in a whisper, “I wanted to shove him into the pit.”

 

River laughs, looking absurdly pleased, and murmurs, “You’re the only silly old man I’d ever shag.”

 

He flushes but she doesn’t wait a moment longer before yanking him to her by his bowtie and he forgets all about the stuttering reply waiting on his tongue. Her lips are soft and warm, just a touch greedy like he is the one who needs claiming. The Doctor groans, hands fisting in her hair, and hauls her against his chest. “My River.”

 

She nips at his bottom lip, teeth sharp and punishing. “My Doctor.”

 

Nuzzling his nose against her cheek and breathing her in hungrily, he agrees with a quiet, “Always and completely.” Pulling away briefly, he gropes in the darkness until he finds her pith hat, settling it back onto her riotous curls. He grins widely at the picture she makes. His own little Indiana Jones. “Much better.”

 

Glaring, she tries to whack him but he ducks her swat and hides beneath the brim of her hat, kissing her again. She sighs into his mouth and leaves the hat where it is, giving him _every bit_ of her full attention.


End file.
